This morning, fourteenth Sunday in ordinary time, the breeze, as I was sitting on the balcony of the hotel where we are staying for vacation, and noticing the rustling in the tall grass that architecturally landscapes the view so as to make the view of the outdoor water park more natural-seeming and almost beautiful, reminded me of that poem by Christina Rossetti that a bunch of us learned in third grade, “Who Has Seen the Wind?”
Who has seen the wind?
Neither you nor I.
But when the trees bow down their heads,
the wind is passing by.
But I couldn’t quite remember it, so I had to look it up at Poetry Foundation.
Which guided me to a different one, which is how this kind of thing works.
Amen to that.